


cure your aching

by pelele, TheBeastsWrite (orphan_account)



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Adorable Newt Scamander, Crushes, Cunnilingus, Denial of Feelings, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, I’m Exposing Us Lmao, Masturbation, Movie 1: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Not Real But He Wishes They Were, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Relationship, Public Masturbation, Riding, Secret Crush, Sexual Fantasy, Sin™️ - Freeform, Smut, Sorry Not Sorry, Tina Goldstein/Newt Scamander Bashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-03 12:25:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14568969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pelele/pseuds/pelele, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/TheBeastsWrite
Summary: It’s late at night, and all Newt can do is stay awake and think about Seraphina Picquery.





	cure your aching

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was a joint effort between Dmitri and I, after weeks of screaming about this pairing over the phone, crying over mutual headcanons and songs that fit them, and one fateful RP thread.
> 
> Thank man, couldn’t have done it without you.
> 
> Warning for Newtina and Tina bashing, so if you’re into that ship greatly, leave.

In the Goldstein apartment, with the lights off and Jacob’s soft snoring bouncing against the walls, the world is unusually quiet. It’s late at night, enough that despite the city’s lights never dimming once and people still bustling to and fro in the streets, New York seems subdued somehow, and as the whole world goes to sleep all Newt can do is stay awake and think of Seraphina Picquery.

Guilt underlines his feelings— guilt that he’s in another woman’s house, in another’s bed, a woman who fancies him beyond belief, and he’s only thinking of Seraphina. Newt notices the way Tina looks at him, all fluttering lashes and demure smiles, the way she tilts her head and stared at Newt like she was a lost lamb and she wanted him to comfort her. She was lovely, if one were into her type, but as far as possibly as attractive to him as his own _mother_ is. He wants no part of caring for her like she wants him to. Still, a part of him feels as if he were leading her on, with not confessing that he held no love for her.

It isn’t Tina’s fault that he has no interest in her— but it is, the cynical part of his mind hisses, dragging nails across wood like an angry, caged beast— aside from a vague desire of friendship. She is sweet, in the way a smothering parent was, but Newt just sees no part of her that appeals to him romantically.

( _Of course. Just like it wasn’t her fault she almost got you killed, that she put your creatures in great danger for her own gain. That she only began to see you in a favorable light once you became useful to her. Darling Tina did nothing wrong, did she? You’ve always been to sweet_.)

He shuts the voice out. It had always been a confrontational fellow.

Newt figures he will tell her about the limits his feelings soon enough, at least before he leaves New York and likely never comes back. Besides, it’s rather late to go and wake Tina up and tell her he’s not and likely will not be interested in her. As such, he continues to lay in bed. It is her’s— the sister’s had insisted he and Jacob take their beds, after all four had arrived at the home from a night out together— and it reflects its owner greatly: dusky blue, a plain checkerboard motif sewn into warm quilt, smelling like freshly washed laundry, and downy, with the pillows fluffed to perfection; the type of bed that begged whoever rested on it, to fall into a deep sleep. But Newt’s brain is racing with thoughts that night, and so he stays awake, staring at the ceiling and thinking of Seraphina. Again.

He had met her before, years ago when he was just beginning his travels for his book. Theseus had saddled Newt as his plus one to a party where important Ministry officials would attend, and quickly abandoned his younger brother to fend off for himself amidst the crowd of officials and pureblood families not-so discreetly sneering at each other and him.

Newt was about to retreat to the safety of outside the Ministry— or perhaps, even better, sneak into the Beast Department— when he had bumped into her, stepping on her dress and almost bringing her crashing down, had he not outstretched his arms and caught her in the last second.

He had heard and read _enough_ about Seraphina Picquery to know who she was, but seeing her in person was a different experience. She was a regal woman, not tall but who carried herself with elegance that seemed make her tower over the rest, and her face bore an ageless quality that made how old she impossible to pinpoint. Her bleached curls were piled up above her head in an elegant hairstyle, which had miraculously not been tousled by her near fall. Seraphina had opened her mouth, no doubt to berate Newt for his usual clumsiness, when her eyes— dark, almond shaped, and he was so close to her he could see they were framed by long lashes— narrowed in on his lapel.

“Is that a bowtruckle?”

From then on, they spent the entire night talking about anything and everything. It had been a change of pace for Newt, to find someone who matched his jokes and earnestly cared to listen about his research on creatures. He had respectfully called her Madam and Madam President, but did not miss the way she jokingly rolled her eyes as he referred to her by her title. Pickett, the flirt, had pretended to be bashful when Seraphina offered her finger to shake his small hand, and preened at her praise and marvel of him.

She was a dastardly smart witch, clever and humorous in her own way, and Newt would be lying if he said he hadn’t become a bit smitten with her that night. The way she spoke of her plans, how she reacted to his knowledge of magical creatures— it was a sudden affinity he’d never had with anyone. Not with Theseus, whom he loved dearly. Not with Jacob, or Queenie, and certainly not with Tina of all people.

The past few days in New York have only worked to heighten Newt’s feelings. If she had been beautiful back at the Ministry, she was startling here in MACUSA, in her element. The way she talks and moves speaks of power and control, and hides the great kindness she possesses.

 _You’re pitiful. She thanks you for helping with Grindelwald, takes your expertise into consideration for the Thunderbird legislation, and all you can do is lie here and think of her like a lovesick child? You’re not in Hogwarts anymore, haven’t been for years_.

Newt is not lovesick. Smitten, yes. Taken with her, greatly. Enamoured, perhaps. But not lovesick.

And even if he were, it isn’t as if Seraphina Picquery will give him the time of day.

Instead he simply thinks of her, it’s the only thing thing Newt can do. Think of her charming smile, the way she held her wand as she discreetly made the French Minister slip onto his backside back at the party, of her warm eyes and her full lips and the way her clothing hugs her figure and highlights every curve—

Newt’s train of thought stills when he feels the warmth pool below his navel. His sleeping clothes suddenly feel uncomfortable between his thighs and he pushes the blanket off, incredulously staring between his legs.

“You have to be joking,” he hisses. Jacob snorts in his sleep and Newt freezes, hands coming to press himself down— to his mortification, the sudden pressure makes him rut against his hands for a second— and breathes in relief when the man turns around and keeps on sleeping.

He thinks of making a run for the inside of his case and taking a nice, freezing dip into the lake he made for some of the aquatic beasts, but if he were to go down, he would risk alerting the rest of his creatures, and they would flock around and never allow him to get close to the water. Using the sisters’ shower is a no-go, he’d also risk waking them up in the process, and most of all— have Queenie hear his thoughts as he slips into the bathroom. He will not suffer through the legilimen’s looks the next morning.

With no other option, Newt shuts his eyes and pushes himself down against the bed. Think of anything else. _Theseus, the French, jellied eels, having to clean the sick Vulture Griffin’s waste that one time_. It has the desired effect, with some added nausea at that last reminder, and he feels his arousal waning. _Good, just keep thinking. Your old Divination teacher getting drunk on Butterbeer, getting to_ drink _Butterbeer, Queenie, all those rumors of Dumbledore’s brother, Jacob, Tina; getting dragged to you knees at MACUSA, having Picquery stare down at you, the center of attention, her voice commanding_ —

Newt flips over and buries his face in the pillow, silently screaming into the sweet-smelling fabric. She still surrounded his thoughts, and the more he tried not to think of Seraphina, the more it became all he could think of.

“This isn’t _working_ ,” he frantically whispers to himself, hoping not to wake Jacob up. “I’ll just— I’ll wait it out.”

 _Or you can take matters into your own hands_.

The thought makes Newt freeze. Pleasuring himself in Tina and Queenie’s home— in Tina’s bed— with Jacob only a feet inches beside him and reacting to the lightest sound of the creaking bed? And to think of Seraphina in that matter. It all felt wrong, disrespectful.

 _But you’d be careful_ , the voice croons and the idea beckons him, sweet as any siren’s song. _You’ll be quiet, cast a charm if you need to. When was the last time you took matters into your hands? And it’s not as if the Madam President will ever know your thoughts. You’re allowed to be greedy at least once_.

Newt considered the prospects. It was obvious his arousal wasn’t going down soon, not as long as his thoughts kept going to Seraphina. Maybe, if he were quiet enough, if he didn’t move so much, he could manage.

Turning around so he was once again staring at the ceiling he slowly, hesitant, runs his fingers down his stomach and to the top his pajamas.

He traces himself through the fabric, biting down on his tongue at the way it feels. He has neglected to relieve himself in a while, usually too busy with his creatures and his book. Sparing a quick glance at Jacob and finding that he’s still blissfully asleep and giving his back to Newt, he feels brave enough to properly grope himself, a soft gasp leaving him. Newt moves his hand up and down, dragging the soft fabric of his pajamas over him, a wet spot beginning to gather from the tip of his cock. The feeling is pleasant, but not enough; so with his other hand, he drags down the waistline while the other takes his cock out. A gust of cold air blows against his heated flesh and his lashes flutter. Whether it’s because he hasn’t touched himself in so long, the fact he’s doing this so publicly, or both, every nerve of Newt’s body is alert.

 _Would she touch you like this?_ He wonders if he would even manage to get so far with Seraphina, and the thought thrills him. To have her look at him like this, desperate for release. Feel her full lips pressed against his in a kiss, to let his hands roam her body while she was over him, giving him his release.

No, she wouldn’t be _so_ kind. Newt shakes his head and closes his eyes, picturing her so, so very easily. She’d be sitting in her chair like a queen on her throne, legs crossed and chin placed on her palm in a mirror of a bored expression. But the light in her eyes would shine with mischief and her lips would curl in a smile as she’d take in his state— his tousled curls, his disheveled appearance, how he was hard and straining against his trousers.

“Beautiful,” he whispers aloud, imagining her bare for him.

“Come here, Kitten,” she’d say, her voice curling around the endearment and Newt would crawl to her without hesitation, preening at the endearment and the way she would brush his hair back.

Seraphina would kiss him. His lips, his cheeks, his forehead, kiss him with so much care he would flush at her attention.

He’d kiss her back, of course, from her lips to her neck, unbuttoning her shirt and going down the valley of her breasts. Newt idly imagines she has a birthmark just above her left breast, and pictures himself kissing it reverently before continuing his descent. Down her stomach, firm from dueling and time as an Auror, until he would undo her slacks and slide them down her legs.

Back in the bed, Newt shakily manages to mutter a spell to lubricate his hand. He wriggles out of his pajamas and spreads his legs as far as they can go in the small bed. He should be ashamed, that he’s exposing himself like this, that Jacob would awaken or either of the Goldstein sisters walk into the room and see him in this state; but Newt is beyond caring, instead slowly pumps himself and goes back to his fantasies.

Seraphina wouldn’t even have to hold him in place. Newt is _greedy_ , but he would work for her pleasure first and foremost, kissing his way across her inner thighs and delighting in how they’d quake. His hands would be placed on her thighs, almost behind her, digging into the skin so hard it would bruise. Newt would place one last kiss on her skin, just above the apex of her thighs— laughing at how she could swat his head and jokingly tell him to hurry up— before tasting her.

He can only dream of the sound she would make as he lapped her in slow strokes, occasionally stopping to press messy, breathless kisses. How she would arch her back as he makes sure to properly taste her, her juices trickling down his chin as he pleasures her. Would she pull at his hair or drag nails across his shoulders as his lips find her clit, one hand releasing her leg, to rub circles over it?

To have her soaked and trembling for him, it would be something Newt would die for.

Only once he was _sure_ she had cum would he pull away, pressing his cheek to her thigh and watching her shake through the aftershocks. Newt would still be hard, he wouldn’t touch himself while on his knees for her, but Seraphina isn’t so _cruel_ , would _never_ be so cruel to him. She would draw him up for a final kiss, her tongue chasing her taste on his lips, his hands on her breasts. Her hands, strong in their grip, would push him onto his back, skid down to his abdomen for purchase as she straddled him. Seraphina would sink down, warm, wet heat enveloping him—

Newt moans and gasps, hips rising off the bed and bucking into his grip. His free hand clamps over his mouth and struggles to bury his sounds as the other quickens its pace, twisting upward, desperate for his own release.

Seraphina would set the pace, rocking her body, taking as much of him as she wanted. She would drag her hands across his body, claw at his skin, mark him with her teeth and nails for everyone to see, and his name would fall from her lips— his _name_ , not Newton, not Scamander, not _Mister_ Scamander, but Newt. He would do the same, painting bruises into her the skin of her hips and thighs and and ass, rising to meet her thrusts. Newt would take, greedy, as much as he’d give, growl low in his throat as he chases his pleasure and her own. Her grinding would become frantic, unrefined as he she ground against him, one hand playing with herself as her head tilted back, and Newt would want to kiss Seraphina’s lovely smiling mouth one last time.

“ _Ah_ — Se… _Phina_.” In the real world, he thumbs the sensitive head of his cock, picturing her body stiffening as she orgasms and he follows right after, no longer caring to hide his sounds as cums harder than he ever has before.

Lights dance across Newt’s vision. His labored breathing slows until his chest once again rises and falls slowly. His right hand is sticky and his body entire in covered in sweat, but so loose-limbed and satisfied that he almost forgets where he is and just what he’s done.

Embarrassment courses through Newt as he fumbles to get his pajamas back on, a difficult task when using one hand. Tina’s bed is stained, as is his stomach, but it’s nothing a quick Tergeo doesn’t fix. When everything is once again in perfect condition, Newt pulls the quilt over him like a shield.

Sleep is farther than ever, and his body hums with energy and magic. When Newt presses his fingertips to his lips, he feels the magic sizzle at his touch, like electricity. Would Seraphina’s feel the same?

All he has imagined so far, he is sure, falls greatly short of reality— but it was still a wonderful thought to be lost in, to have her in his arms and be in hers in return.

Perhaps, he would gather up some courage before he was to leave New York. After all, he was allowed to be a _little_ greedy sometimes.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow Dmitri [@gossipswoop](https://gossipswoop.tumblr.com/) for fun shit, and follow me [letclestrcnge](https://letclestrcnge.tumblr.com/) to see me screaming into the void for 20 hours!


End file.
